Poor Thing
by MagicCarpet87
Summary: Does one ever wonder what happened to Lucy Barker? Some say she wasn't so lucky... Oneshot!


Alright, this would be my first Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street fanfiction ever (So be nice XD). For a first try, I'm actually a bit proud of this D. I hope you all enjoy this. Oh! Also, I placed bits and pieces of the song Epiphany because I thought it fit well in certain situations and Sweeney's P.O.V. of it all. I think the poor soul deserves it.

Disclaimer: None of the marvelous characters belong to me! Alright, now that we've got that clear, although I'm sure we all wish we owned a piece of Depp's character -smirk-.

Reviews are loved, as always!!

_**Poor Thing**_

I bet one never wondered what it was like to be so alone. Without ones beloved at their side. To be violated in means one can never understand until they've experienced it themselves. It was a sickening feeling, much how one gets before they dry heave a story in their minds so believable they fall for it themselves. It was romantic in a way, a sickening romance between a person and their mind, how it contradicts the way one thinks. Tragic. Only beginning misfortune unto the bleeding souls.

Heels clacked against the wooden floor, dress firmly bunched up in the slender fingers and white knuckles as the feminine form hurried up the stairs. Little Johanna had been tucked into bed, sleeping soundly while her mother had visited the shop below to fetch some baby food before she awoke.

Whilst eyes glanced upon the sleeping child, a needle adorned her slim worked fingers of child care and housework. Down below Mrs. Lovett and her husband had been fixing themselves supper. The delectable smell wafting through their window and into the one up above. Meat pies, she believed. Still, Lucy Barker couldn't eat a thing. Golden curls that were normally kept in check were disheveled and out of place, her body wracked and whipped with tears, shakes and shivers. It was a never ending process, a rather vicious cycle for the young mother and wife of the barber that had been taken into custody of the English police.

It had been several long days and nights, and each day was harder than the last as she slowly came into realization of the situation. Never again will she see the barber that caught her when she fell.

She couldn't understand why it had happened. He never cradled wrongdoings, he never harmed anyone, nor stole a coin. So what could he have done for those who are evil to wrong the father of her child so? Lucy still couldn't comprehend and further she sewed on, watching the pointed needle spin in and out at the command of her fingers, thimble fitted onto her thumb as it assisted guidance of the needle. It was her own pacifier. Something to keep her sane for the sake of their Johanna.

Strength had to come second nature to her now. Little Johanna hadn't a prayer if it didn't…

Alas, Lucy had to move on. That was a fact. Would she ever love again? No, she could never. Benjamin was her one and only love. And it would just be a wicked service if she were to settle for another to replace what she had lost. Nay, she would gather the pieces and restart. But for now, just for now, she would sit and grieve a little while longer.

_But not for long. _

Around the same time, every day, the Judge and the Beadle would show up by her window where she sat, sewing to ease her troubled thoughts whilst her child napped. Today he offered an assortment of flowers, roses, greens, and a mild touch of some wild flowers, wisps of goldenrod and violet. Lucy wouldn't budge from the security of those four walls. She hadn't since she found out her husband was never returning to her. All because of him.

He was the law after all.

The next day was the same thing. The same assortment of flowers, this time little Johanna had the opportunity to peer on. Lucy wanted to point out to her that that man down below was the man who had caused all of this turmoil to begin with. But just found it pointless. It wouldn't make either one of them feel better. However, as usual, Lucy turned away from the window and placed Johanna back down into her crib to play with her building blocks and dolls.

"You must come straight to his house tonight."

The Beadle had told her that Judge Turpin requested her at a party he had thrown together the last minute. Lucy, with no time to change had been dragged down the stairs and into the streets. "Nellie!" Lucy called out. "Please!" She pleaded. Mrs. Lovett understood the small plea and nodded to herself to watch the infant for her while she was out. Lucy needn't fret.

She was yanked into the barely lit street further by the chubby little arm.

She was shoved into the crowd of dancers, a glass of wine in hand in which she drunk, confused and unsure. Why this sudden party? Had there been a birthday? Or a holiday? Or could be have been… It was possible. Repent was an option. Yes, he must have been repenting. The thought somewhat soothed her. Yet she couldn't have been further from the truth. The drink had begun to claim her with that kept in mind to ease her troubled spirit. The spinning dancers were making her own head nastily spin and ache.

"Where is Judge Turpin?" She murmured gently.

Oh, he wasn't too far off. He was actually quite close. Very so near by. He was just waiting for the right moment to appear. And that's when she laid back and closed her eyes for a moment, only to be prodded with a rude awakening from that of none other than Judge Turpin himself. Her mind was of a fog, drowned in alcohol and dazed with unwanted ecstasy and confusion.

The judge decided to claim her that night, and allow all of London to come watch as he raped her of her mentality, raped her of her spirit, and tainted her being. There had been nothing left of Lucy Barker when he was through but a quivering, bloody mess. The judge rose when he was through, quite satisfied with himself and his deeds. Others laughed and got a kick out of it for some sick pleasured reason. Perhaps thinking this is what happened when they were foolish like her? She didn't move. She was frozen where she laid. Unable and unwilling to breathe fresh air; all she could breathe was the tainted musk of the judge.

_There are two kinds of men and only two. _

The Beadle brought her home, still quite limp and fragile. Nellie Lovett heard someone walk up the stairs, a thud, then someone walk back down them again. She waited until the person was through and hurried up, finding Lucy facedown on her bed. She backed up towards the door at first, her eyes taking on the pale figure before her. "Call the medic!" she hollered, her husband doing just that. Care was issued immediately.

In the following eves to come, Lucy had been lucky she lived through the tragic event that continuously played over and over in her mind. This time the strength laid in her daughter Johanna to pull her through. But she was slipping into something so deep, not even the little one could save her. She found her way into the black market, loosely used to describe dark alleyways and the like that sold imported goods and other things of the sort. A merchant had sold her a vile of foreign liquid to ease her troubled spirits. With any hope of the medicine doing as it had been promised, Lucy bought it without hesitation.

"Love, I wouldn't touch it," Nellie said to her when Lucy told her about the miracle liquid.

"What choice would I have left?" Lucy questioned, despair and hunger for relief laced in a chokehold of tears and sorrow.

"Wut about your little Johanna? She needs ya, love…" The baker tried to reason with the aching woman. Still, this argument was peeling no where and fast. She knew. She knew all too well.

"I ask if anything does happen to me that you care for her." It almost seemed like a promise that she would be going somewhere. And it didn't sound like a humble little vacation, either.

Nellie's face contorted into a look of displeasure. Surely she didn't mind watching over the young one for an hour or so every so often. But for the child to look up to her and expect her to guide her throughout the remainder of her years? That she just wasn't sure of. She herself was still young after all. No younger than Lucy. But young enough to not want a life to look after other than her own just yet.

Things change with time, though.

"I still wouldn't drink it…"

"I cannot do it without him. I cannot raise her without him…I cannot live without my husband, Nellie…"

Mrs. Lovett patted her upon her hand gently, carefully taking the vile from her hands. She didn't trust it. Not in the very least. Lucy stared helplessly as it had been taken from her. She had to claim it back and take it to make everything right again! Nellie stood and slid the vile in between her breasts, finding no way that Lucy would dare venture in there to claim it back. She'd bet a penny on it.

However, she couldn't keep it hidden in there for long. She kept it hidden in a box in the kitchen, a place least likely to be seen against the flour sacks. Yet, she found it. Of course, there had to be a crash that followed and Nellie awoke to hear it while her fattening husband snored and snoozed on. "Lazy oaf," she murmured to herself, silently hoping he would get up to see who it was. Although she had a decent idea who it could have been.

_And we all deserve to die!_

And then came the expected thud. Then Johanna's cry. Nellie ran as fast as her feet would carry her, flower covering the floor, revealing the acid-like liquid that ate up the white powder, her once more calling for a medic, her husband's heavy feet trudging through the house to get the doctor, Nellie caring for the desperate mother and wife lying on the ground, a duo of tears laying against the small river of fizzing liquid.

_And my Lucy_

_Lies in ashes…_

One would think Lucy Barker had died that night. Well, in a way it was true. Lucky Barker did die that evening, and a mad woman strewn with rage, misery and angst had been given birth to.

_No I'll never_

_Hug my girl to me…_

_FINISHED!_

"NOO! Had they no mercy on her!?" The barber howled from his nightmare.

"Wut's all this commotion!?" A young woman hollered in return as she trudged up the stairs, nightgown bunched up in her hands. "You'll wake the whole bloody neighborhood, you will!"

And what did he care? Why spare mercy on them when none had been given to his late lover? Why!? He laid in bed, drenched in sweat, the baby's wail, and his wife's tears still fresh in his subconscious. If they should have killed anyone…it should have been him. He allowed her entrance, although was quiet about it. The tale she had strummed earlier had worked thoughts in his mind far more complicated and horrifying than anything anyone could ever imagine. And what thoughts were so webbed together with silk that it had to be lifelike?

"Mrs. Lovett…" He sounded a bit dazed, yet weary…and confused, yet he looked at her with a filthy glare, as though he knew there was something she wasn't telling him.

"Yes, Mr. T?" She inquired, taking a step or two on the cold floor, closer to where he laid almost taken aback by the glances and glares he fed her. She only wanted to protect him…protected him from what became of his…_their_ darling Lucy "Tell me again…Tell me what happened."

She arched a brow. Yet held no objection. If that was what he wanted. Then so be it. She was no one to deny him a thing. Well, perhaps the full truth of the matter…

"_There was a barber and his wife…" _

He closed his eyes, ready to challenge the dream with her reality.

Poor thing.


End file.
